


Control

by threadofgrace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood Kink, F/M, Hurt Sam Winchester, Lots of Sex Issues, M/M, Post-Hell, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sam Has Issues, Sam-Centric, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:23:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9837815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threadofgrace/pseuds/threadofgrace
Summary: After Sam gets his soul back, it takes him 1 year, 3 months and 29 days before he has sex again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a half story-half character study that I've been messing with for a while now. Honestly, I'm not entirely convinced that it really works the way I had intended (or hoped) but I've reached a point where I can't handle tinkering with it anymore, so I'm just going to throw it up here.

After Sam gets his soul back, it takes him 1 year, 3 months and 29 days before he has sex again.

It's not like he doesn't try. 

On day 16 at a bar outside of Kansas City, he gets drunk enough to take Laura the blue-eyed bartender outside to the Impala. But then the making out and the groping comes to a pause and they're both spread out on the backseat with their pants off and it's suddenly showtime, Sam, but there is just nothing happening below the belt for him anymore.

She's looking up at him with a small expectant smile, running her fingers across the skin of his thigh in a gentle, teasing motion that he thinks he would normally love. But instead, there's the strangest sensation growing in his chest, like he's not actually there, but maybe floating above the scene. His stomach tightens painfully. 

Laura, who is beginning to look slightly worried, generously offers to blow him to get him back in the mood. However, he's getting worried that he might throw up on her, so he calls the evening early, blaming too much tequila. She rolls her eyes, like it’s an excuse she's heard before, but she leaves the car, which was really all Sam was shooting for anyway. 

When he gets back to the motel, Dean gives him his broadest, dirtiest grin, like he knows exactly what Sam's been up to and he wholeheartedly approves. Since they were teenagers, Dean has always displayed an uncanny ability to instantly tell, anytime Sam has gotten anything remotely resembling action, It's downright freaky, honestly. Except apparently it doesn't extend to knowing that Sam couldn't close the deal, thank god. He brushes past his brother and heads straight for the bathroom. It’s possible that he really did overdo it on the tequila. His head is starting to pound. 

 

It's a singularly disconcerting feeling to sacrifice yourself on behalf of humanity (on behalf of your brother) only to wake up into your body over a year later, just as much a part of the living, vibrant world as ever. 

Then to discover that your body has actually been walking around for most of that year without you, getting involved in all kinds of unsavory activities?

Let's just say that he understands the way Bobby and Dean treated him for the first day or so after he had first come back to himself. He doesn't trust himself either these days. If that’s a trend that had started even before the Cage, it’s even truer now. He’s got evidence now of what happens when he lets himself go, when there is no one around to hold him back.

Sometimes, when they're driving in the Impala, he'll catch himself staring down at his hands in his lap, with something like suspicion pulsing just behind his eyes.

 

Sam dreams that night, only the dream has the hazy patina of a memory and he knows instinctively that he's seeing something from his soulless days.

_In his dream, he's naked on a large king sized bed in a hotel room that's way nicer than anything he's ever stayed in with Dean. He's having athletic sex with a curvy, heavily made up blonde. She’s porn star levels of enthusiastic as she writhes underneath him and he’s saying the worst kind of shit to her, things he’d never thought could come out of his mouth, but she looks like she’s loving it._

_In the corner, there's a man tied to a chair. "Boyfriend" some piece of Sam's mind supplies helpfully. The guy is bound and gagged but Sam can't tear his eyes away from his face, which is frozen in an expression of complete horror and humiliation._  
. 

When he wakes up, he's harder than he's been since he got back, but doing something about it feels somehow unconscionable. He lays in bed till dawn with his eyes open, and his hands tucked at his sides, trying not to shift too much on the old mattress springs.

 

On day 43, the cute morgue attendant in Fort Lauderdale makes eyes at him and honestly he couldn't be less interested, but he’s getting tired of walking around like there's something broken inside him, so he asks her out for a proper date on the theory that getting to know someone first might make things a little easier down the road. 

Dean looks disproportionately thrilled when Sam tells him that he has a date for that evening. 

Joanna is tiny and adorable with lots of dark brown curls and a wickedly dark sense of humor that Sam supposes is probably a job requirement for a morgue worker. They go to a little Cuban place and split a pitcher of mojitos. He chokes on a sip as she’s telling him the punch line to an involved story about a weird corpse, and she has to slap him on the back a few times before he can breathe right. Her palm lingers for a long moment against his shoulder blade, the heat from her skin bleeding through his shirt and sparking an unaccountable shot of panic inside his chest. 

Joanna invites him back to her place after dinner and a large part of him wants to go, he really does. Instead he finds himself blurting out that she’s sweet and very definitely sexy, but he has to get up early in the morning and will probably be leaving town soon anyway. 

Its still pretty early, so instead of getting back to the motel, Sam just kind of drives around aimlessly for a while with the windows rolled down, letting the heavy Florida air soak into his thoughts.

Dean is still up when he gets back and Sam can tell he’s disappointed to see him, but he cracks open an extra beer and neither of them talk about it. 

 

_Dirt and blood is flying everywhere. He rolls across the wet earth, barely escaping a vicious swipe of claws before swinging his knife up with all of his strength. It goes into the wendingo like butter and then there’s a gushing spray of blood showering down on him. He’s totally covered in it: can taste its tang on his lips, can feel it dripping down his forehead._

_It’s covering the other woman too…another hunter? (Brunette with a boyish body and a face that’s made up of lines that are too harsh, but she’s right here and she's staring him down with an expression on her face that he likes the look of. ) They fuck right there on top of the wendingo corpse. He takes the point of his encrusted blade, and digs it into the skin on her neck and breasts, until drops of her own blood are welling up and mingling with the flaking remains from the creature. Then he licks her clean._ . 

 

Winchesters grew up doing PT. That is to say, Sam is used to physical exercise and even if he’d complained as a child, he’d actually grown to like it over the years. Working out was soothing; it got him out of the darkest places inside his own head and back in touch with his body. In the midst of the disorientation and excitement of waking back up in his own body, Sam had been letting things slide a bit recently. But that ended now. 

 

He starts to work out with a level of feverish intensity that has Dean beginning to shoot him faintly worried looks when he comes in sweaty from yet another run, or when he sets an alarm for 5 am, so he can work in a few sets of pushups next to the bed before they have to go out. (The early alarms fairly quickly become a sore spot for Dean for a multitude of reasons.)

He begins keeping a diary of the food he eats and drinks, noting nutritional content. (He's more careful to hide that from Dean, because he knows he'd never hear the end of it.) One morning, he catches a local television news story about meditation as a way to master your thoughts and he makes a note to research some basic techniques. 

There are only so many tools available to him at the moment, but he'll try every last one of them if it means he could get some control back over his body. 

 

_He dreams about fucking a girl up against a brick alley wall in the back of a biker bar somewhere in Podunk USA. She tastes like sweat and whisky and she's squirming and moaning under him. Only she's not squirming, she's struggling and crying and the noises she's making are desperate and is Sam, is he?_

"Dude." 

He jerks awake. They've pulled into a gas station. Dean is in the driver's seat and looking at him with a worried expression. 

"You were out like a light there Sam, " Dean says. "Need anything inside?"

Sam just shakes his head, feeling uncertain and unclean.

 

When the wall comes down on Day 153, Sam finds a whole new reason not to have sex. 120 years worth of reasons, actually.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, got this up way sooner than I expected. (This should be the last part)

Day 206

 

Lucifer likes to reminisce. He's good at that. Lately, he's been in the habit of sharing his favorite memories of each of Sam’s body parts. 

"Hey, Sammy, do you remember what your own eyeballs taste like? Because I sure do, and lemme tell you, YUM. I think it’s a texture thing mostly. They kind of pop in your mouth and then you’re just overwhelmed with all that jelly. But, viscera flavored instead of strawberry. 

Honestly, Sam, I’ll taste any part of you that I can get. You’re that addictive. You should take that as a compliment actually.” 

 

Sam shuts his eyes and tries to sleep, pulling the scratchy motel sheet all the way up over the top of his head. 

In the dark, the sheet slips. Lucifer licks across the nape of his neck. Sam shivers and hates himself. 

 

 

Day 239

Bunk buddy.

Bitch.

My bitch.

Sam shudders. Then he remembers a time when he wasn't even allowed to do that, wasn't allowed that much freedom of movement, and was that the Cage or was that actually before? He’s been ridden in so many ways for so many years now, maybe it’s just that he doesn’t know how to function any other way. 

Just to be safe, he stops moving. It occurs to him to wonder if he's allowed to breathe. He tries to hold his breath, but eventually he takes an accidental noisy exhale.

He waits for his punishment. 

 

Dean rolls over in the other bed. 

 

In the corner, he thinks he can hear Lucifer laughing faintly to himself, but the Devil doesn't deign to come any closer. 

Lying alone in his bed, Sam feels perversely, sickeningly lonely.

 

Day 252

His mind is bleeding. That's how he keeps imagining it. Its bleeding Hell, letting Hell seep out into ever corner of his reality until he's too mixed up to understand what the world looks like when it isn't covered in a thin sheen of horror.

God, he just hurts.

God doesn't exist here. God has left the building. Vamoosed. He should know that by now. He should really, really, really know that by now.

He hurts all over these days, in ways that are both hard to articulate and brutally, horrifyingly specific. There are new words being created to accurately describe the ways he hurts. There are no words to describe it.

In the Cage, he barely had a night of peace, a night where he slept without Lucifer pressed up against him, consuming him in every way possible.

When he thinks about the girl in the alley and what he now knows came before, there’s a feeling that’s almost like relief. Almost, but with a different flavor. This time its more like horror.

_Lucifer is pressed up against him, skin to skin, and there’s no getting away from anything. He wants to vomit, but he isn’t allowed. He can’t make his limbs move in the right ways, even as his stomach does his best to escape out his rib cage._

_"Sam," a voice whispers in his ear. "Sam." He bites his lip hard, tasting blood, but he turns over.  
The thing is, one way or another, Sam’s body hasn’t fully been his own since he was 6 months old. _

 

_She was squirming underneath him as he pressed her up against the wall._

 

Sam whimpers quietly and is instantly ashamed. There's a triumphal noise from the corner of the room.

 

Its day 276 and to celebrate getting out the mental hospital, he picks up a guy outside of Nashville. 

He’s actually not into guys as a general rule, but with the way everything has gotten so jumbled up inside his head lately, he figures its worth a shot. 

 

The guy’s name is Carl and he’s got a head full of curls that Sam wouldn’t mind running his fingers through, if he was being honest with himself. More importantly, he’s a huge guy, as big as Sam and just as muscled. He smiles at Sam from across the bar and Sam wonders if maybe this was what he had actually been needing all along. 

Carl takes him back to his place, where things start out annoyingly vanilla. He's kissing Sam, soft and careful as he works the buttons open on Sam's shirt. Sam grins into the kiss, then breaks away to whisper something into Carl's ear.

It turns out that Carl is very good at taking suggestions. 

In the space of a heart beat, Sam is tossed backwards onto to bed, and this, this is more like what he came for. 

Carl's weight is on top of him a moment later, but Sam can move, he's allowed to do that now, so he uses his own bodyweight to roll them over until Carl is now the one pinned underneath him. Carl actually fucking growls at him and grinds his hips into Sam's jeans covered crotch. 

He pauses for half a second in surprise, and then his face clears as he winks up at Sam.

"Looks like you need a little encouragement there?" His hands are already at Sam's fly, so there is no mistaking his meaning. 

Sam bats him away, a little harder than he means to. "Don't worry about me," he tells Carl. "I'll catch up." Then he leans down to kiss Carl, as slowly and enthusiastically as he can manage. Carl groans extravagantly underneath him, Sam's problem seemingly forgotten. Then all of a sudden, Sam is tipped forward and falling to the floor and its Carl on top again, pressing down on him from behind.

"I'm going to fuck you into the floor," he tells Sam, and the matter of fact promise in his voice makes Sam shiver. 

Sam obediently opens his jeans, and starts to push them down over hips while Carl latches onto a spot just above Sam's collarbone and starts sucking a hickey into existence that Sam is going to have hide from Dean for days. 

He hears the click of a bottle opening, and then Carl is runs an appreciative hand over Sam's bare ass, sending a wet finger downward to lightly circle his hole. Sam closes his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut.

But Carl doesn't just stop with his ass, he snakes his other hand around to Sam's front again. 

 

There's another silent pause, another question that doesn't need to be asked.

"I'm okay," Sam says after a moment. "Just keep going." 

"Dude," Carl tries, and then seems to give up. 

They're both silent again and then Carl rolls off him. Sam stares at the carpet, refusing to look up at him. Its a wordless game of chicken.

"Look," Carl says finally, with a heavy sigh. "I don't know what you want here...but if you aren't...then I'm not gonna..."

And that's all that needs to be said. Sam pulls up his jeans without looking at him, and then he gets the hell out of there. He doesn't try again for a long time. 

 

 

Day 428

Dean goes to Purgatory and Sam is suddenly left alone with himself. He wanders around in a kind of distracted haze, paralyzed with a level of indecision that he doesn't quite recognize in himself, but which he can't seem to shake. 

He looks for Dean but the experience is more like groping in the dark when he's not even sure what he's looking for. Leads come and leads go and he can't even decide which ones might be worth pursuing.

 

Day 482

Then he hits a dog and the next part is kind of taken care of for him. 

Amelia is all sharp edges and sour notes and she hates herself in a way that feels comfortingly familiar to Sam. And yes, he's aware of how fucked up that sounds, but he can't actually bring himself to care because his brother is gone, but they're both here and for once he finds that he is able to just let himself exist inside his own skin and forget everything he's lost for a little while.

 

Day 484 and onwards

The first time they fuck, its hard and its awkward and over way too fast for either of them to enjoy themselves. Afterwards, Sam excuses himself and throws up in the toilet. Then the next day, they do it again and things are a little easier.

 

Amelia is a choice that Sam makes for himself and then keeps on making every day. 

In the end, he supposes it’s as simple as that. 

And he hates himself for making it, hates what it means about himself, what it means for Dean, but he can't deny the fact that there is a thrill in choosing, day in and day out, to stay with her. 

 

But then Dean comes back to him and Sam makes a choice again, only this time it isn't really a choice at all.


End file.
